


Who You Gonna Call?

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13819347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'I was hoping to request a Paul McCartney fic, where Paul and his girlfriend go ghost hunting, only for Paul to get extremely freaked out during the adventure please?'This hotel is a real hotel in Liverpool!





	Who You Gonna Call?

“‘Ey, this place is creepy.”

Paul looks uncomfortably at you as you twirl in front of the mirror, and you laugh, winking at him.

“Come on, Paulie. It’s the Adelphi.”

“I don’ care! It’s creepy, love, it’s, like… look at the hairs on the back of me neck…” You look at him, sighing, and he shakes his head. “I don’ like it.”

“It’s haunted as hell,” you say, and he glares at you. “But you knew that. And you agreed to come here…”

“Alright, love, I know,” he says, grumpily. “But we’re only gonna sneak around a bit, right? S’weird, love, it’s a hotel, like, people are _sleepin’_ ‘ere…”

“If you drop anymore h’s, they’re going to make the alphabet 25 letters, you know that, right?” you say, and get a little smile out of him. “I promise, Paulie. But we’ve got the floor to ourselves. God bless your band.”

“… alright,” he says, apprehensively. “But… yeh gotta promise if we see anythin’, we come right back to the room.” He shakes his head. “What am I sayin’, we’re checkin’ out, immediately.”

“ _Yes_ , Paulie. But show first.” He shakes his head, and stands up. “Let’s go…!”

* * *

 

“It’s creepy. An’ cold. An’ I’m tired.”

You look at Paul, and tiptoe further up the corridor. This floor has been shut off by security; you know there should be absolutely nobody here apart from a security guy in one room at the end, so you’re starting at the far end of the corridor. Security have the keys to the entire floor as well, and all it took was Paul asking nicely to get hold of them - not that he wanted to.

“I’m sorry, Paulie, but shush.” You push the door open, and enter the room - it isn’t as warm and inviting as yours. It’s cold - immaculate, but cold, and you look around. “Okay, how about, if there’s no ghosts in here, we go to bed…?”

“What’re yeh expectin’? ‘Alright, love, I’m just havin’ an eternal _nap_ ’?” you hear him mutter, but you step further into the suite, ignoring his whining. “Oh, god. Oh god, what if it jumps out, like? What if it’s like in the movies, an’ it’s, like… we’re the _first victims_ …”

“You’re so _annoying_.”

“ _Then you do this, an’ let me go to bed_.” His tone is sharp, and you sigh, looking at him. He does look tired, but… whatever. You fold your arms, and look around the room. This is a very posh place, with a little sitting room off the main bedroom, and you look at the doors into the bedroom. “(Y/N)…”

“Then fuck off. You’ve been promising me we’ll do this since you found out you’d be staying here. Maybe we can do it _next_ time we’re in Liverpool and we get put up here,” you say sharply, and there’s a moment of silence, and then you hear him clear his throat.

“(Y/N).” You ignore him, and step towards the double-doors that lead to the bedroom. “I’m sorry, ey. I just… I’m tired an’ cranky, like.” You shrug, a little hurt still, and his hand falls on your shoulder; you turn around, and he pulls you close. “Okay, love. We’re gonna check out the room - just this room, ey - and we’ll see if we find a ghost, alright?”

“…okay,” you say, quietly, and he kisses your hair. “I’m still a bit mad.”

“That’s okay. Let’s find yeh a ghost-”

You both turn to the glass double-doors, and scream at the same time - his is more a yell of surprise, whilst you shriek and almost leap into his arms as the figure stares at you.

Behind you, the security guard cannot help but double over laughing as you cower before him.

“Oh, Mr McCartney, I am sorry,” he giggles. “I just came to tell you that we caught some girls tryin’ to get up here with a crappy pass and to maybe move rooms. I’m so sorry… (Y/N), love, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, and Paul shakes his head.

“Plan change. We’re gettin’ into another room, and we’re doin’ it _now_.”


End file.
